Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (77 page)

My mother, with her glossy ebony
hair and dusky skin, stood tall and fearless, but from my hidden spot by the
stairs I knew the truth. She wasn’t fearless—far from it. She was petrified. "You
tell them I loved them but I should never have given them life. Especially
Nila. Hide her, Arch. Don’t let them know. Change your name. Run. Don’t let the
debt get her, too."

The memory had ended abruptly
thanks to Vaughn throwing a soccer ball at my head and shattering the final
moments my parents had together. That had been the last time I ever saw her.

I rubbed my palm against my chest,
cursing the tightness around my heart. Confusion weighed heavily, equally as
pressing as despair.

Jethro smiled. "I’m glad
you’re being more reasonable. That is one question I will answer. The
consequences of not coming with me are Vaughn and Archibald Weaver, amongst
other things."

My whole world flipped upside
down—and this time it wasn’t vertigo.

"Your life for theirs."
He shrugged. "Simple really. But don’t worry about the details. There’s
the fine print and endless history lessons to explain."

My heart stopped. My life for
theirs?
He has to be joking
. I didn’t know if I should be screaming in
terror or laughing with amazement. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a farce.
A horrible, cruel joke of my dad’s to ensure I never wanted to date again.
Please
let it be a joke.

"You can’t be serious." I
might’ve been hidden from the world of men, but I wasn’t completely clueless. "You
expect me to believe you?"

Jethro lost his ice, sliding
straight into artic winter. "You think I
care
if you don’t believe
me? Do you think all of this is bullshit and you can somehow argue with me?"

My heart jack-knifed. He was so
sure. So resolute. No hint of worry that his scam might be revealed.
It
isn’t a joke
.

Jethro lowered his voice to a hiss.
"I’ll let you in on another secret about me. I never do things by half. I
never take chances. I never hunt alone." Leaning closer, he finished, "Ever
since I set eyes on you, eyes have been set on your brother and father. They’re
being watched. And if you so much as sneeze wrong, those eyes will turn into
something a lot more invasive. Do you understand?"

I couldn’t reply. All I could
picture was Vaughn and my father being exterminated like vermin and never see
it coming.

"Say another word and I’ll end
them, Ms. Weaver." With a glacial glare, Jethro grabbed the handle bars
and swung his leg over the black powder-coated machine. Every inch was black.
No chrome or colour anywhere.

Shit, what do I do?
I had to run.
Run!

But I couldn’t. Not now he’d
threatened my family. Not now my brain had unlocked a memory adding weight to
Jethro’s lunatic suggestions. Not now I
believed.

A debt.

I didn’t know what it was. It
could’ve been code for something I didn’t understand or literal and requiring
payback. But one thing I knew, I couldn’t risk not obeying.

I loved my family. I adored my
brother. I wouldn’t chance their lives. Not after this so-called debt broke up
my parents’ marriage and happiness.

I jumped as the ignition growled to
life, tearing through the silence, and somehow granting me strength in its
ferocity. Kicking the stand away, Jethro took the weight of the bike.

He didn’t wear a helmet or offer me
one. I expected him to turn around and deliver more information or demands, but
all he did was reach behind, steal my arm, and place it around his hips. The
moment my hand rested on him, he let me go, unknowingly giving me a safe
harbour but with an anchor I already despised.

I looked longingly at the building
where my brother and father mingled with fashionistas and the only world I
knew. I silently begged them to come running out and laugh at my stunned,
fear-filled face yelling ‘we fooled you.’

But nothing. The doors remained
closed. Answers hidden. Future unknown.

I’m alone.

I’m being stolen for a debt only
I can repay. A debt I know nothing about
.

I was idiotic to wish for more than
what I had.

Now, I had nothing.

With a twist of his wrist, Jethro
fed gas to his mechanical beast and we shot forward into darkness.

The Milan airport welcomed me back.

It felt like an eternity since I
flew in, though in reality it’d only been two days. My skin was icy, and
despite my repellent dislike for Jethro, I hadn’t been able to stop huddling
against him while he broke speed limits and took corners at hyper-speed on his
death machine. My tiny skirt and sleeveless corset weren’t meant for gallivanting
around Milan so late.

Pulling into a short term parking
bay, he killed the engine and kicked down the stand. I immediately sat back,
unwinding my arms from around his waist.

The fear remained in my heart,
growing thicker with every beat. I couldn’t look at the so-called gentleman
without swallowing a cocktail of murderous rage and teary terror.

His profile showed a man with a
five o’ clock shadow beginning over his jaw, windswept thick hair, and an edge
that catapulted him from sexy to dangerous. He stood out from a crowd. He drew
need and desire effortlessly. But there was nothing tame or kind or normal. He
reeked of manipulation and control.

He’s an iceberg.

The car park wasn’t empty, but it
wasn’t rush hour either. Despite the clunking echo of a couple dragging
suitcases toward the terminal, the night was quiet.

Jethro climbed off the bike. Once
standing, he rolled his neck, rubbing the cord of muscle with a strong hand.
His eyes latched onto mine. They looked darker, more autumn leaf than precious
metal, but still as cold.

I glowered back, hoping my hatred
was visible.

His face remained closed off—not
rising to the challenge of a staring war. Holding out his palm, he waited. The
way he watched spoke volumes. He didn’t wonder if I’d take his hand. He
knew
.
He believed in himself so damn much everything other than his wish was
dismissed as ludicrous.

Too bad for him, I didn’t do well
with the silent treatment. V had trained that out of me. Having a boisterous
twin armed me with certain skills. And ignoring moody males was one of them.

Swatting his hand, I pushed off
from the black leather and landed on bare feet. The brisk concrete bit into my
soles. Wrapping my arms around my shivering torso, I muttered, "As if I’d
accept your help. After everything you’ve done so far."

Dropping his arm, he chuckled. "So
far?" He leaned closer. "I’ve done nothing. Not yet. Wait until
you’re in my domain and behind closed doors. Then you might have something
worthy of being melodramatic about."

My skills at coping with the future
rested on being able to ignore his threats and focus on the now. Standing tall,
I said, "I could ask something stupid like why are we at the airport, but
I can guess why. However, you failed to think about my schedule—"

"Schedules change."

"I don’t travel alone, Mr.
Hawk. I had tickets booked for my brother, assistant, and wardrobe organiser.
Not to mention the excess luggage. They’ll be expecting me. Hell, my assistant
will be expecting me back at the hotel tonight. All of this—it’s a waste of time.
It’s a waste because the police will be told and if you think my father won’t
come for me, you’re mistaken."

Even as I said it doubt crept over
my soul. Tex Weaver shoved me into this nightmare. Why did I think he’d come
and bring me home?

Jethro crossed his arms, lips in a
tight smile as if I were amusing and not pointing out valid facts. "There
were a multitude of mistakes in that paragraph, but I’ll focus only on the
relevant points." Tilting his head, he continued, "Your father is
fully aware of everything. Your loyalty to the man who gave you away with no
fight is misplaced. His hands are tied and he damn well knows it. As for the
police, they have no relevance in your future. Forget about them, your family,
hope
.
It’s over."

His voice dropped to a growl. "Do
you know
why
it’s over? It’s over because your
life
is over.
There’s so much you don’t know, and so much I can’t wait to tell you."

He shed his icy exterior, grabbing
my hair and jerking my head back. "You’ll learn about your peerage. Your
rotten family tree. And you’ll pay. So shut up, give up, and appreciate my
kindness thus far because I’m running low on decency, Ms. Weaver, and you won’t
like me when I hit my limit."

My shivers evolved to full blown
tremors. "I don’t like you now, let alone in the future. Let me go."

He surprised me by stepping away,
releasing me. My scalp smarted, but I refused to rub my head.

"You’re testing me. But lucky
for you, I know how to deal with troublesome pets."

Pets?

My hands balled.

How did I ever think I wanted him?
The fact his lips had been on my face and his thumb in my mouth repulsed me.

Jethro’s gaze drifted down my state
of undress. "You’re shaking. I don’t want you getting sick." His
eyebrow quirked. "I’d offer you my jacket, like the chivalrous man I am,
but I doubt you’d accept it. However, I have something better."

Spinning around, he drifted toward
a deep shadow cast by one of the large pillars. "Flaw? Get out here. You
damn well better be—"

"I’m here." A man
appeared from the shadows. Dressed in black jeans, shirt, and black leather
jacket, the only glint of colour came from a simple silver outline of a diamond
engraved on the front pocket. He looked like a thief waiting for a victim. "Been
here for forty-five minutes. You’re late." He tossed Jethro a duffel,
running a hand through long dark hair. "Lucky for you the flight’s
delayed."

Jethro caught the bag, glaring at
the man. "Don’t forget your place. I’m not late according to my rules—not
yours." Manhandling the duffel, he said, "You did as I asked?"

The man nodded. "Everything.
Including photographic evidence. It all went smoothly, and the tickets are
inside. I’ll take care of the bike, just leave it there. Cushion and Fracture
are tracking the Weaver men until you tell them otherwise."

Jethro pulled out an envelope, then
flicked through the contents. He looked up, something resembling a smile
gracing his lips. "Good work. I’ll see you back at Hawksridge."

My ears pricked at the name. It
sounded familiar—reeking of old money.

He’s from nobility?
The concept of Jethro being a duke or an earl was preposterous, and
yet…uncannily perfect. Everything about him was deceptive and…bored. Was that
all this was? A game to pass the time for some rich brat who got sick of
killing puppies?

I couldn’t stop my teeth from
chattering—both from disgust and cold. The man named Flaw glanced my way. His
eyes narrowed. "He’s expecting you and the woman. I’ll message and let him
know it’s gone well."

"Don’t," Jethro snapped.
His English accent thickened with the demand. "He doesn’t need to know.
He’ll see us soon enough." Dismissing the man as if he was the hired help
and no longer required, Jethro stalked toward me, holding out the bag.

Flaw dissolved back into the
shadows like a scary apparition.

"This is yours. Get dressed.
You won’t be allowed in the building half-naked and shoeless."

Taking the duffel, I muttered under
my breath, "I was dressed in an outfit worth thousands of pounds before
you tore it off me." The loss of my showpiece smarted like an open wound.

I had two wishes—one, that he’d
heard me and knew just how pissed I was. And two, that he didn’t hear, because
I was afraid of his reaction.

Jethro smirked before turning to
his bike.

I opened the bag and promptly
dropped it.

Oh, my God.
I had to be dreaming.
Wake up, Nila. Please, wake up.

My knees buckled, following the bag
to the floor. Shaking, I collected the photos sitting on top of a mound of
clothes.
My
clothes. Everything I’d brought to Milan—minus the fashion
show apparel and my work tools—running gear, a bikini, sweat pants, pyjamas,
and a simple collection of blouses, jeans, and maxi dresses.